


Boundaries

by keelywolfe



Category: Journey into Mystery, Thor (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Journey Into Mystery #645. I hesitate to add more because of spoilers. </p><p>Even chaos has boundaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boundaries

* * *

In was dangerous to fall asleep on the streets, Serrure knew. Sleeping was way too vulnerable to risk and dying wasn't the worst thing that could happen. He had seen, he knew, and sitting on this stoop, huddled beneath a blanket against the onslaught of the rain, Serrure struggled not to drowse.

His head nodded, once, twice, and he jerked upright, blinking hard. Not yet, he told himself, not yet. When Jules came back, that was when he could sleep, with someone there, if not to watch over him than at least to yell if he saw _un policier._

Another head nod and Serrure pinched his upper lip, hard, the pain clearing his mind for a moment. Normally, he wouldn't even _be_ here, out in the cold and the wet. There was always someplace to sleep, some bit of floor or the end of sofa that he could borrow. But Jules's older brother had spent all the money they'd scavenged this week on gin and they hadn't dared stay when he was like that, all sour alcohol sweat and fists. On the streets, ghosting through the crowds of tourists, they'd only managed to get a meager handful of coins this afternoon before Jules had been caught, as always, never as nimble a lift as Serrure was. They'd run and gotten away, but Serrure had twisted his ankle in the flight.

Bad luck, he told himself glumly, just a patch of bad luck. They'd skate over it and the next week, maybe even the next day would be better. There had been no money to barter, but Jules had snuck a half bottle of his brother's stash and had insisted Serrure drink it. For the pain, he said, guilt heavy in his eyes, though Serrure had already forgiven him. Foolish, simpleminded Jules; dependable, though, loyal. At least for now, until something better came along.

The stoop was cold and Serrure squirmed beneath the frail warmth of his jacket, head spinning pleasantly from the gin and the pain in his ankle only a low throb. Jules had gone, for food, he said, he'd be back, and perhaps he would. This time.

Alone and inches from the fall of rain, Serrure's head nodded again and this time stayed, his chin resting against his chest as he slept.

* * *

The shadow that loomed over the boy was unnoticed, silent steps that took it up the stoop and there it stopped, standing as it regarded a small homeless child, curled beneath a threadbare jacket.

"And here you are, Serrure," Loki murmured, softly. His voice did not carry and the child did not stir. He looked out into the rain, watched the silver fall of droplets and sighed, then sat opposite the boy, wrinkling his nose as he edged the toes of his boots out of the rain. He propped his chin on his hand, green eyes on a child who was nearly his mirror. Dirt was smeared across one of Serrure's cheeks, his lashes casting dark shadows across them and Loki studied him through his own child's eyes, though the mind behind them was nothing so innocent.

"Here you are," Loki repeated, quietly, "Back from whence you came, into the life you would have lived before a Norse god came and took you to a place to be reviled, hated, and eventually redeemed. Before I spun you a tale to travel, a dream, a journey and now that journey is ended and you've returned home."

He sat back, fingers moving idly, conjuring puffs of green smoke to twine, vine-like, across his knuckles. "You should know this is not a gift from me, this life," Loki told the sleeping child, "It is only balance, a life for a life. Even chaos has certain boundaries and while I may bend them, in the end, I cannot break."

Loki pursed his lips thoughtfully, twitching his fingers and the tendrils of smoke wrapped around his arms like snakes before vanishing. The rain poured around them, the heavy fall of it drowning any sounds until Loki spoke again.

"And what will become of you then?" he wondered aloud,  "I do not predict the future, though I'm not above manipulating it for my own means as you well know…ah," Loki smirked, his mouth curving, mocking, "My apologies, you wouldn't remember that at all. As I was saying, I cannot predict your future, child, but I can conjecture."

He reached out and laid a single gloved finger on Serrure's cheek, wiping away the dirty smear before cupping his chin lightly, "You're a human and even amongst those you are the lowest of the low. Perhaps you may show some little skill with trickery, perhaps words will still, at times, be your weapons." Loki's voice went harsher than a child's, a low rasp as he whispered, staring at little sleeping Serrure with emerald-hard eyes. "You will live as you will die, unremarkable and unremarked, and in a hundred years, a thousand, no one will even remember that you existed."

For a moment, his fingers went tight on Serrure's chin, digging in, and the child whimpered in his sleep, lashes fluttering. Loki gentled his grip instantly, stroked away bruises as he said, tenderly, "No one but me."

Loki leaned in, whispered close to a dirty ear. "This is my gift, from me to you, from me to me." He paused, hesitating, then gritted out, "You may remember, in the brief moments between waking and sleeping, that you won, though you may not remember why. This, at least, I can grant you, little child, little human. Little not-Loki."

He stood then, booted feet still silent against the damp concrete steps, "You won and I have changed, so you get to live, Serrure." He turned away, a half step into the rain as he added, "Enjoy it while you can."

* * *

Serrure stirred, blinking, and nearly fell off the stoop as he jerked upright, scrubbing his sleeve frantically over his eyes. He staggered to his feet, yelping aloud as pain shot up his leg from his twisted ankle and nearly fell again from the tangle of his jacket around his knees. Two hands grabbed him, steadying him and instinctively he fought, lashing out.

"Easy, it's just me!" Jules yelped, falling back and Serrure wobbled, blinking, at the sight of Jules sprawled across the stoop, foil wrapped packets scattered around him.

"What….what?" Serrure stammered, sagging back down. He sat dumbly as Jules beamed at him, pressing one of the little packets into his hand. It was still warm and inside was a sandwich piled high with chicken and tomatoes. His favorite, Serrure realized dimly and his mouth filled with soft liquid, his stomach cramping. He bit into it automatically, chewing as he looked at Jules's grinning face with questioning eyes.

"Pulled a good one," Jules said proudly, "No cards, only cash." His words were blurred around his own sandwich and Serrure accepted the bottle of soda Jules fumbled in his direction, washed down a lump of sandwich with a cool wash of sweet liquid.

Food was more important than talking and so Serrure settled for a fist bump, one gesture that communicated his relief and delight. The two of them huddled on the stoop, scarfing down sandwiches and Jules had even gotten them little wedges of pie for dessert. Something dark and oppressive, something pained that had been lingering at the back of Serrure's thoughts lifted and he ate with relish, savoring the sweetness of the pie. Better luck even today, he thought happily. Better luck to come, and when he finished, Jules gathered up the trash and whispered for him to sleep first. Belly full and his ankle already feeling better, Serrure did.

Later, Serrure woke disoriented, the dream sloughing away and he blinked in the damp mist of morning, felt the chill of it seeping through his clothes. Across from him, Jules was asleep and Serrure felt a faint, fond itch of annoyance that Jules hadn't woken him for his own watch.

Still on the edge of sleep, Serrure fell back against the brick wall behind him, still caught in the muzzy-numbness of poor rest. The dream was already fading, breaking apart into fragments, wisps of something seen through shadow…something…

No. It was gone.

Serrure shook it away, yawning. Ah, it didn't matter. A dream was a dream and there were things to do today, things to wake up for. The rain had stopped and already he could see the edge of sunlight creeping up. Dawn was coming and Serrure smiled.

Perhaps today would be his lucky day.

 

-finis-

**Author's Note:**

> Perelka_L was inspired to art by this story and you can see it here:
> 
> [Loki and Serrure](http://perelka-l.tumblr.com/post/34357205637/you-won-and-i-have-changed-so-you-get-to-live)
> 
> Please, give the artist some love!


End file.
